


Reluctance

by CorsetJinx



Series: We never asked to be heroes [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Artistic Liberties Taken, Blood, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Recruitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: The path of the dark knights is often a thankless one. Now someone wants him to throw being a Warrior of Light on top of it.





	1. Chapter 1

He knows that he is dreaming because he still has his right eye. When he blinks and looks slowly around the room it’s just as it was all those years ago: shabby, only just warm enough to prevent freezing in the night, and not a cat in sight. His heart jumps a little at this. At what he knows will be coming next.

“You aren’t going to sleep the morning away, boy.” A low drawl comes from the room beyond the moth-eaten blanket strung up for privacy. His master’s voice - clear and heavy as day.

He pushes himself up and has the peculiar sensation that it’s not really him that’s moving. Only his body, with him along as an observer. He’s slept in his leathers again - there will be a scolding.

The curtain smells like must and age as he pushed it aside, careful not to accidentally pull it down. His master glances at him, dark circles under darker eyes and a thin smile.

“Sleep well this time did you?”

_Yes._ The word forms on his mouth, easy and followed by a smile of his own. _At least I was spared your snoring._

He watches the lines in his master’s face deepen as he laughs, staring hard. The elezen looked so _happy_. Calm, untouchable as granite.

Perhaps that should have been his clue, looking back. But the version of him that accepts a shove at the shoulder and a bruised apple knows no better, cannot imagine what will come later. He feels a little guilt and anger at this as he watches the dream play out, imagining that it could be real.

 

His timing is off. The swing of his greatsword shatters the soul crystal and pain turns the world into a blur as shards and aether bury themselves into his eye. Later he could think back and compare it to being struck by levinlight or ice. Too intense to fully process - so great that it _burned_.

The damage is done though. His master slumps as one dead, armor cleaved in twain and the frozen ground readily dyes itself with ichor. He has no idea how long he stands there, lost, feeling the cold stab at his wounds. The torn skin around his eye hardens.

At some point he collapses, covered in blood and dirt. A voice talks to him then - strange and thinly feminine. It tells him to listen. To _feel_. To _think_.

The rest blurs out from under him, swallowed by the abyss.

 

He refuses the eye patch. No matter how good the quality of the thing it irritates the crystal spurs covering the socket. The healer shudders to touch him, stammering when he explains the loss of his eye. His aether feels strange even to himself and frequently he wonders if he is not dead, with someone else puppeting his haggard body through the motions.

His heart beats. The cold air stings when he breathes it in as deep as he can, returning as delicate mist when he exhales. Despite all the other aches he feels, his stomach grumbles loudly enough to make him embarrassed. It’s safe enough to assume that he’s living, then, as he meekly spoons broth into his mouth and swallows.

He spends most of his master’s remaining gil to cover the treatment. There is just enough left over to pay for a sad handful of flowers, which he takes to the grave. There’s a marker, surprisingly. He cannot remember if he had been the one to make it or to bury the body. Had his master been a fan of drink he would have brought that instead, but he lays the tired blossoms down and feels his remaining eye prickle with heat.

 

“You are certain this is not some mistake?” He asks, watching the Au Ra lean forward to rest her chin on folded arms. Light from the Forgotten Knight’s hearth makes her scales gleam. White and gold, charmingly attractive against the soft pink of her coat.

“No doubt about it. The crystal practically _dragged_ me here to you.” She drums her nails against her arm, studying him thoughtfully. “You have a familiar air about you. Have we met?”

He shakes his head, sips carefully from his cup. “You’re the first of your kind that I have ever seen. I think I’d remember a woman with horns, scales and tail.”

If his flat tone bothers her, she only grins.

“Get that a lot since we came to Ishgard. But come, tell me honestly - you’ve had the spells too, yes? Black outs, visions, voices?”

“I’m a dark knight.” He reminds her mildly, drinking deeply this time. The honey in the tea soothes the back of his throat. “I hardly think that means anything. Could be madness setting in. What makes you think…”

She cuts him off by reaching into her coat and drawing out a stone. His eye is drawn to it immediately, breath catching in his chest. The thing is a pure deep blue and emits a familiar kind of light. His right eye aches.

Without really intending to he reaches for the shard of stone he’s long taken to wearing beneath his breastplate, the chain clinking as he drew it out. Though smaller, more jagged than her own, it gives off the same tender radiance.

Gold eyes bore into him with a satisfied kind of smugness. She’s smiling like she’s won. For a moment he wonders if he really has met her somewhere - if the old dream of a pleading voice and streaks of light was more than just something brought on by grief.

“This changes nothing.” He forces himself to say, tucking the stone back under his mail. It sits close to his heart, nearly weightless.

“Mayhap.” She returns her own stone to its hiding place, still smiling. “You have the blessing of Light, I’d wager. Dark knight or no, you cannot change the Mothercrystal’s decision.”

He hates having things decided for him. “I can always choose not to answer.”

That hardens her stare. Makes her tail lash to the side, drawing a worried gaze from one of her companions. A boy, unless he missed his guess. A scholar or arcanist by the look of him, yet to grow into himself. The others - a cat eared woman, elezen black mage and another Au Ra with black scales instead of white kept themselves busy with other things.

The woman with cat ears looked as though she would love nothing more than to pounce on the roast slowly cooking behind the bar. Not that he blamed her, really.

“You could.” She says, breaking him out of his wandering thoughts. “You certainly wouldn’t be the first or last to try. But we could use your help nevertheless. _Others_ will need your help.”

“I lend aid to those that ask it already.” He sets his empty cup aside, tempted to signal for another. “It is the path of the dark knights to bring justice.”

“Don’t you mean _retribution?_ ” She asked sharply.

He shrugged. “Such is the form of justice left to the poor and the weak. They cannot stand up for themselves, nor protect others. We who walk the path do our best to see the wicked put down.”

“You could help many more if you came with us.” She pressed.

“It seems that you have plenty already with you.” He pushed his chair back, standing. “I wish you all the best with your venture, miss. And I’ll thank you not to interrupt my evening again.”


	2. Cooperation

“Why do you have so many cats?” Anemone lifts her leg to gingerly step over another one of his friends, her tail raised high in the hopes of avoiding a swat from curious paws. When one of his oldest houseguests meanders over she stoops to pet him, smiling as Ser Vamant purred.

The fat cat practically radiated smugness when he pouted at it, long bushy tail swaying idly as the summoner continued to scratch under his chin. He tried not to feel too jealous - it wasn’t like he hadn’t known the old coot preferred being a lady’s cat.

“They remind me to be gentle.” He replies at last, setting Nemeia down so he can reach the stove. Alice chitters a greeting at him and he stops making tea long enough to give her a well earned pat on the head. Her long ears tickle his fingers as he scratches around them and it isn’t long before he’s smiling.

Anemone is smiling too, as she watches him. Ser Vamant is curled up in her arms, dusting her pretty coat with his salt and pepper fur. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Do you name them all?”

“I’m not that creative.” He tells her. It’s not untrue - he’d run out of names even before the latest strays came ambling by. Now he just welcomed them with whatever he had, even if it was just the warmth of his hands and a delight for their company. “Almost all of them come and go as they please. Some are from the highborn Houses. They like to wander the most.”

He narrowed his eyes at Ser Vamant but the rascal only yawned.

“I think you may have adopted all the stray cats in the Brume.” Anemone chuckled. He nodded at the cramped little table and it’s mismatched chairs, setting the kettle to boil.

“Probably. They need a home just like everyone else.”

She held Vamant close as she sat, allowing him to sniff at her horn curiously. Part of him wondered if it had been her Carbuncles that made her so used to animals, or if the fact that she was a summoner more attractive to them. Her lap warmer fled when he came around with the tea, her word of thanks oddly relaxing to hear.

When was the last time he’d entertained company? Years, probably. Since before his master had lost himself and needed to be put down.

“You are a good person, taking care of so many.” She smiled, brushing her thumb over the rim of her cup. “How do you feed them all?”

“They hunt.” He hesitates to join her at the table - to take his master’s old chair - and instead leans against the counter behind him. “You would be hard pressed to find a rodent near this house and a malm beyond, if you can believe it. Sadly that sometimes includes birds.”

Not that there had ever been many birds to begin with. Not that he could remember, anyway.

“You still want me to join your merry band of misfits?” He asked, cutting to the chase.

“For starters, they aren’t _mine_.” She admonished, sipping her tea. He had no sugar or cream to offer her - doubtless it wasn’t as good as something from House Fortemps or de Borel, but she did not seem to mind. “We work together and try to keep each other from going crazy. But yes, that is why I am here.”

He allowed himself a smile at her honesty. “I am already mad by some accounts. T'would be a shame to spread it to the masses.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Anemone winked. “You’ll fit right in. If you decide to come along, that is.”

“ _Oh?_ Now I’m being given a choice?” Alice returned for more head scratches and he obliged, watching his guest sigh.

“You’ve always had a _choice_. I’m just here to ask, again. One of my _merry band_ would probably rather stick you full of arrows than try and convince you the _nice_ way.”

He didn’t doubt it. “I fought archers before. They’re rarely trouble.”

“Then you haven’t faced one like her.” Anemone’s smile grew sharp, full of teeth. “I can promise you that it wouldn’t be pleasant, no matter how pretty her singing voice.”

“And yet if you just wanted to talk, why not send your budding politician after me?” He quirked a brow, sipping his tea. It tasted faintly bitter. He’d have to get more leaves soon.

She answered him with a shrug, reaching out to stroke the calico that climbed up to inspect her. “You would not listen to Alphinaud, I suspect. He’s young, and a mage. He would try his best to convince you and you would rile him up by pretending to listen.”

“That’s cruel. I’m listening now.”

“Barely.” Anemone surmised, grinned as she wiggled her fingers at her new playmate. “I won’t attack you in your own home, but your stubbornness is a pain in the ass.”

He raised his cup to her in a sort of vague salute, feeling his mouth curve a little.

“Is there anything keeping you here? Besides the cats.” She looked up at him thoughtfully.

He took another sip. Technically the answer was no. He had no real friends apart from his brothers and sisters among the dark knights, even then it wasn’t like he kept in contact with them. No lovers, or family that would implore him to stay. Even the cats could fend for themselves if he chose to leave - and they had, when he’d been taken far afield to hunt down a target.

_Excuses_ , his master would have said.

His right eye socket throbbed under the bandages.

“Nothing but familiarity and ghosts.” He admitted reluctantly. “Sorry.”

“You wouldn’t be alone.” She said it almost like a promise - dangling the statement like a sweet. “We’re not the most organized bunch, I’ll confess. Some days nothing at all happens and you could spend the whole day fishing, if you wanted. But we could use your help, if you’re willing to give it.”

He gently nudged Alice away, lifting his cup again. By the door his greatsword waited, ever so patiently, to be picked up again.

“You are very bad at this.” He tells her anyway, swirling the last of his tea in his cup.

“Never said I was a politician.” She winked again, downing her own drink with frightening ease. “I thought you might appreciate the honesty.”

He did. That was part of the problem. “And if my answer is still no?”

Anemone drummed her fingers along her cup, studying him. Slowly, she set the mug down and laid her hands flat on the table. “Then you say no. I’ll leave, with your permission, and we might catch sight of each other every now and then in the city.”

“And if I say you can’t leave?” He finished his tea and set the cup aside, far back enough that Alice wouldn’t knock it down to the floor.

She gave him that sharp grin again, accompanied by the faintest stirring of aether. “I will fight my way out. But that would hurt the cats. And you really don’t want me here for much longer. It’s written all over your face.”

He shrugged, relaxing back against the counter. “Are you going to send your friends after me?”

“Personally? No.” For a moment she looked almost embarrassed, pushing her chair back to stand. “But they’ll probably show up of their own accord.”

He figured as much. Annoyingly persistent, but it was likely that they had come so far _because_ of that trait.

“Where shall I meet you then?” He sighed, folding his arms. “The Forgotten Knight?”

“Or you could come to House Fortemps.” Her expression softened. “We would be glad to have you. And it would be easy to introduce everyone.”

The idea of walking up to one of the High Houses didn’t exactly appeal to him. But he’d take it. “Tomorrow, then. I’d suggest heading home if you want to avoid the worst of the chill.”

She nodded, but didn’t move. “Might I have your name? You know mine, and it will be a delightful secret to keep from everyone else if you give me yours.”

“Dusk.” He shrugged when she tilted her head at the lack of a surname. “Tomorrow, House Fortemps.”

“Thank you.” Her shoulders lowered suddenly, tension bleeding out of her body surprisingly quick. “I _really_ didn’t want to get our black mage involved.”

He raised his chin towards the front -and only - door, watching her leave with a weight settling into his stomach.

Now he had the rest of the night to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.


End file.
